When the Past Comes Back Read online

  When the Past Comes Back

  By Gordon Sharp

  Copyright © 2014 Real. Cool. Media.

  All rights reserved worldwide, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or in part, in any form.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Maggie's barking woke me from a dead sleep. My bedroom blurred as I squinted into the bright sunlight spilling through my open blinds. Why hadn't I closed those last night? My head throbbed, and my mouth felt like cotton, but tasted like stale tacos. I couldn't remember exactly what I'd done last night. At some point I had stopped by Shooter's for a few beers with the girls. How I'd gotten home was a mystery, but I sincerely hoped that I hadn't driven. Even as much of a mess as I was, I still had a moral compass.

  Stumbling out of bed, I yelped as I stubbed my big toe on the corner of my nightstand. I had to stop drinking so much. Mom was constantly telling me that I'd never find another boyfriend with that kind of behavior. What man wants to date a lush? I usually mouth off, and remind her that I don't want to be in a relationship given what happened during my last one. If I was in a particularly foul mood, I'd remind her of what happened with my father. That was a low blow, though, so I saved that one for when I was especially bitchy.

  "Mom?" I croaked as I eased my bedroom door open. My throat felt like someone had poured straight tequila down it, and I wondered how far off base that was. How many shots had I done? "Maggie won't shut up. Mom?"

  I padded into the kitchen, and shoved the back door open. The dog shot outside, and squatted beneath a tree a few feet from the steps. That seemed strange. Usually Mom let Maggie out when she left for work in the morning. Then the dog was good for most of the day, at least until I crawled out of bed in the early afternoon. It almost seemed like she hadn't been out at all. Maybe Mom wasn't feeling well. I peered across the living room to see that my mother's door was shut tight.

  After I took a shower--and felt more sober--I'd go in and check on her. As much as I egged her on, and acted like a thirteen year old junior high student, I loved my mom more than anyone in the world. After my dad took off with my brother, she and I relied on each other for everything. She'd let me move back in after my last spectacular break up, even though, I knew that she was enjoying her alone time.

  I let Maggie back in, and filled up her bowl with dry food. Then I headed into the bathroom the two of us shared in the double wide trailer. With the shower going, I let the steam fill the room before I slipped into the hot spray. I washed off the sour alcohol mixed with sweat smell that seemed to be oozing from my pores. In moments like that I knew I was out of control, but I had no way of stopping. Mom lectured me continuously, but her words hit me like ping pong balls, and bounced off with almost no impact.

  Once I was clean, I wrapped a towel around myself and dashed across the living room to my bedroom. Mom hated it when I dripped on the carpet. Not that living in a trailer was something to be hoity-toity about but Mom kept the place immaculate. I tried to reason with her that water dried, and was clear, no harm, no foul, but she never listened.

  Wrapping my hair in the towel, I threw on my clothes, and shoved my dirty stuff from the night before under my bed with my foot. My still damp hair got thrown into a messy ponytail. Maybe I'd go for a run before I went to work later. I hadn't worked out in weeks, and my body was feeling the effects from the excessive alcohol consumption I'd been partaking in lately.

  Maggie whined at my door. "What is wrong with you, dog?" I peered down at her as she gazed up at me through her soulful eyes. She turned and padded toward Mom's door. My stomach twisted suddenly, and I bit the inside of my cheek. What if she really was sick and I'd just wasted all that time getting ready for my day? I quickened my pace as I crossed the small space between our doors. I knocked.

  "Mom? You in there? Are you okay?" There was a quiver in my voice that I tried to still. Tough. That was my mantra. Stay tough. If Mom was sick, I'd take care of her. That was all. Nothing bad. Nothing undoable.

  I knocked again, and pressed my ear against the door. I didn't hear anything. Maybe she'd gone to work already, and the dang dog was just being stupid. That was a definite possibility. I eased the door open, and peered into the still dark room. Mom never left her curtains closed in the morning. She was a huge believer in fresh air and sunlight. A sense of foreboding crept up, and stared over my shoulder. Maggie whined again.

  "Mom?"

  I edged into the room, and the first thing I noticed was the smell. Something bitter and metallic. Something rotten. I gagged, bile rising in my throat. Swallowing hard, I reached over to flip on the light switch. The yellow glow that spilled from the overhead unit burned my eyes, and my head throbbed. I squinted. Once my sight had adjusted I saw it. The empty bed and blood. The whole mattress was covered in a pool of blood.

  My mind seized, and then went blank. I couldn't formulate a thought. Maggie nudged past my leg, and whined again. She knew what had happened. And she was trying to tell me. That was the first thing I thought. Absurd, but comforting. My next thought was that I had to find Mom. I stepped farther into the room, and my foot sank into something sticky. I gasped, but forced myself to keep walking. Maybe Mom was on the other side of the bed. Had she fallen down?

  Nothing on the other side of the bed either. I stumbled past Maggie into the living room, and into the kitchen, reaching the garbage can before I heaved into it. I sank to my knees, and put my head in my hands. What was going on? My vision swam, and I stared at the floral swirled tile of the kitchen floor. I counted to fifteen, and counted back down to one. My stomach twisted again as I thought of the gruesome scene in my mother's room. Maggie nudged me, and whined again. I wrapped my arms around her neck.

  The only thing to do now was to call nine-one-one. On my hands and knees I crawled across the living room to my bedroom. If I stood up I was afraid I'd fall right back down again. Staying close to the floor seemed like the best option. When I got to my room, I grabbed my phone off the night table, and hunched down beside my bed. I punched in the number and waited while the phone rang.

  "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" The woman who answered had a nasally voice, and I tried to imagine her on the other end of the line.

  "I can't find my mom," I whispered, the words choking in my throat as I tried to speak.

  "Excuse me, miss? Can you repeat that?" Her no-nonsense voice made me cringe, and I sort of hated her at that moment.

  "I can't find my mom," I repeated, my voice cracking as I raised my voice.

  "Alright, and do you want to report her missing? That really isn't something to call nine-one-one for. You should call your local police station to file a report." She wasn't understanding me, understanding the severity of the situation. I knew that she was going to hang up on me soon. I couldn't let her do that because once we got off the phone I was going to lose it. I was barely holding it together as it was now.

  Swallowing hard I said, "I can't find her, and there's so much blood."

  "Blood? You didn't mention blood before." The woman's voice actually perked up and I hated her more.

  "There's blood in her bed, but I can't find her. I looked all over her room and she's not there. Please. I need help. Someone has to help me." My voice came out pleading, and I hated myself at that moment too. But I needed someone. There was no one I could call. I had no one else.

  "Are you sure the blood was serious? Maybe she cut herself and didn't have time to clean up before she left for work?"

  "No.
It's bad. There is no sign of her. Can you send someone?" I was surprised how quickly my voice got hard and assured. I had to find my mom. I had to.

  "Of course, I can. I'll dispatch a unit to your home as soon as you give me your address."

  I ignored the snootiness in her tone, and rattled off the information. She assured me again that a unit would be there soon. Then she hung up. I didn't know what to do so I climbed shakily to my feet, and made my way out to the front steps to wait for the police. Maggie followed me. After she had relieved herself by a tree in the front yard she came back to the metal steps to sit beside me. I wrapped my arms around her neck again, and started to cry.

  Chapter Two

  I was still crying when the police cruiser pulled up into the gravel driveway. The crunch of tires on gravel made me look up, and I wiped away my tears and stood up to greet the officer. A young man, probably only a few years older than me, got out of the car. He wore a serious expression, which he tried to temper into a concerned look when he reached me.

  "I got a report of a missing person?" He looked down at a small notepad he had in his hand, and I suspected that he didn't have anything written on it at all.

  "My mom," I said, choking up again. "I woke up this morning and I couldn't find her. She usually leaves for work, but her car's still here." I gestured across the driveway to my car with my mom's pick-up truck beside it. "When I went into her bedroom, there was so much blood. I--"

  "Can you show me?" he interrupted.

  I nodded mutely, not sure what else to say anyway, and led him into the house. My first thought when we entered was that Mom would be ashamed to have a policeman see the place in such a bad state. Coffee cups littered the coffee table along with miscellaneous sections of the newspaper strewn across the sofa. The carpet was pilled and worn. Despite Mom's efforts, the trailer was showing its age, the wear and tear of the years was clear.

  When we got to Mom's room, I pushed the door open and stepped aside so the officer could enter. I didn't follow. The scene was etched in my memory. There was no way I could view it again without throwing up. I lingered in the doorway, however, and I heard the officer gasp. I knew he was viewing it as I had. He came out a second later, nearly running in to me.

  "What do you think?" I asked anxiously.

  He was already to the front door when he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "I'm going to call for help. This is bigger than I was led to believe. Sit down on the sofa, miss, and I'll be with you in a moment."

  Waiting was torture, but when he finally came back in, he had a notebook with him. A larger one this time. He sat down in the chair beside the couch, and looked straight at me.

  "I need you to tell me everything that happened this morning. Tell me what happened last night too. Everything you can remember."

  "Do you think that will help find my mom?" My voice came out small. I was scared, and I couldn't hide it.

  "Anything can. All information helps," the police officer smiled at me in what I assumed was supposed to be a way to put me at ease. It didn't help. I squinted at his name tag. His last name was Wilson. I tried to remember if I'd gone to school with any guys with that name. None from my grade or the grades immediately above or below me came to mind.

  I sighed. "Well, last night I went out. Spent part of the night at Shooter's. Came home, and went straight to bed. This morning I woke up, and went out to the living room. Maggie, that's our dog, hadn't been let out yet, which I thought was weird because Mom always lets her out first thing in the morning. So I let her out and decided to check on Mom. Um, I knocked on her door, but didn't get an answer so I went to take my shower--"

  "You took a shower?" Officer Wilson interrupted me.

  I shrugged. "Well, yeah. I, um, had a little too much to drink, and I felt gross, smelled like cigarettes. I just wanted to get clean." He scribbled something on his pad, and I wanted to ask him what he was writing. I assumed that he wouldn't tell me, kind of like a therapist doesn't tell you what they write on their little pads.

  "Go on," he prompted.

  "Oh, okay. So, I took a shower, got dressed, and went to check on her again. I thought maybe she wasn't feeling well or maybe she had overslept. That isn't like her but anything is possible so I knocked. Then I went in. The blood." I stopped short, bile rising in my throat again. Just the memory was enough to make me start shaking. "I looked all over the room for her, but couldn't find her so I called nine-one-one. And then you came."

  "That's it? You can't think of anything else?" He raised his eyebrows at me, as if prompting me to keep talking. But there was nothing left to say. I had told him everything that had happened. I considered what I'd done the night before. After Shooter's I really couldn't remember much of anything. Clearly I had come home alone, but getting here was a bit fuzzy. Had I driven? Admitting that would be asking for a ticket at the least, since I'd already said I'd had a bit too much to drink. If someone else had driven me home, who had that been? How had they gotten home? Our trailer was way out in the boonies. Telling him any of that would just lead to more questions, and that couldn't be good.

  "I'm sorry. That's all that happened. Please, how are you going to find my mom? I need her. She--she's all I have." My voice cracked as I spoke, and I felt tears prick the backs of my eyes again.

  "What do you mean by that?" he asked.

  "Huh? Oh, it's been just me and my mom for years. My dad left with my older brother when I was a baby. We haven't seen them since." I shrugged. Thinking about my dad and Jordan stemmed the tears that had threatened to fall. I still harbored a lot of anger toward them for abandoning us.

  "That's interesting. Are you sure your mom hasn't had any contact with them in all these years?" Officer Wilson stared at me so hard I wondered if he knew something that I didn't, but that was ridiculous.

  I shook my head firmly. "I'm positive. She'd have told me. Those two disappeared and have never been back. We're better off without them, anyway. That's what Mom always says."

  "Okay, does your Mom have a boyfriend? Or anyone that she's particularly close to?"

  The questions were starting to feel exhausting, and a bit intrusive. I wanted to ask if he suspected something more than just my mom missing. Something bad. There was a lot of blood. No. I forced myself to stop that line of thought. I was going to find her, and everything would turn out to be a bad misunderstanding. She'd be fine, and the two of us could get back to our lives. The police were here to help that happen. No matter how I felt I had to trust them.

  "No, she doesn't have a boyfriend. She does have some close friends that she spends time with. Um, do you need their names or anything?" I felt oddly out of control even though all we were doing was sitting in my living room, talking. The universe was spinning in the opposite direction as the Earth, and I was the only one who could feel it.

  "I will need those. You can just make me a list. We'll have to talk to all of them too."

  "Do you, …um, do you think that you'll find her soon?" I couldn't help the words from coming out.

  Officer Wilson gave me what I assumed was supposed to be a comforting smile. It seemed to be more of a grimace, though.

  "We'll do our best."

  "What can I do?"

  He paused; the serious expression came back to his face. His mouth tugged into a little frown as he considered me. "The best thing you can do is to think hard about the last two days. If you remember anything out of the ordinary, call us right away. The more information we have the better."

  I nodded, but that didn't feel like enough. Just as I was about to ask another question a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Officer Wilson turned to me. "That'll be the crime scene team. We'll need you to leave the house for a few hours."

  "Where am I supposed to go?" I asked, gaping at him. My brain could barely process what he was telling me, and I was being kicked out of my home.

  "Not far," he said. "I'm sure the officer in charge of the investigation will want to ask you questions." br />
  My mouth hung open. Finally I swallowed. "Come on, Maggie, let's go for a walk."

  Chapter Three

  Maggie snuffled at the undergrowth happily. On any other day I would have loved this weather. Late August in the Black Hills made everything that was coming in the ensuing winter worthwhile. Fall came early in these parts, and the warm slant of the sun made everything worthwhile. Not today, though. Today I was struggling to remember all the details of last night. I clutched the leash tighter. The harder I grasped for the memories, the further they slipped away.

  The road split, one way leading into town and the other leading up the mountain. I took the one less traveled, and almost smiled at the poetic irony. Nothing made me want to feel happy, though. Not with Mom missing. My footsteps made hollow thudding noises as I trudged up the mountain. The scent of pine hung heavy in the air. Maggie whined and tugged at the leash. I pulled her back to the road.

  I tried to imagine what the police were doing at the trailer right now. My only experience with that kind of thing was television cop shows. What were they looking for? Clues? To what? I knew that Officer Wilson had been hinting that a crime had been committed. And given all the blood in that bedroom, I'd be naïve to think that something hadn't happened. But who would want to hurt my mom? And if she'd been hurt, where had they taken her? There was no blood anywhere else in the trailer, which had to mean something too.

  "What did you see, Maggie girl?" I asked her, kneeling down so I could scratch her ears.

  The dog cocked her head at me and whined. I stood up again, and continued walking. We had no close neighbors, and that's the way Mom had always preferred it. Now I wished we lived smack in the center of town. At least then someone might have seen something. I knew I was supposed to be the one who had seen or heard something, but I couldn't remember anything.

  We rounded a curve in the road, and I saw the tiny cabin that belonged to an old lady who used to give me lollipops when she walked down the mountain to forage. I took a deep breath, and tugged Maggie's leash as I walked down the stone path toward her front door. Raising my hand to knock, I felt a tremor of anxiety roll through me. When I asked her if she had seen my mother it all would become real. There would be someone else outside of the authorities and myself who knew. I didn't know why that's what I thought until my fist connected with the door.